It’s 1998, I’m 20 years old, and I’m sitting in the hot sun in a field of dry, brown grass in front of a truck. It’s no ordinary truck though. This one has expanded itself, Transformers-style, into a fully equipped stage, complete with lights and sound system.

At present, a band is playing. The crowd is loving their performance, but I am quietly seething.

You see, my band has just been up there, and we had a bunch of technical difficulties. The monitor speakers were down, so all we could really hear from our vantage point were unshielded drums, so it was impossible to hear our own playing. As a result, I knew my pitch had been off, and our playing as a band had been sloppy.

Between sets, though, the crew had fixed the issue and the band on stage ...

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